


not one single further sorrow

by stellahibernis



Series: an approximation of domesticity [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Slice of Life, an approximation of domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’re injured.” It’s not a question, it doesn’t need to be because it is exactly like Bucky to try and not let him know.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Just a scratch,” Bucky says and waves the bottle at him, sounding loopy but almost smiling. “I dug out the bullet and all, it’s fine.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>For a moment Steve just stares at Bucky feeling like both laughing and crying, because on one hand the smile means this isn’t going to be one of those times when coming down from all this, settling back into normal life is going to be hard for Bucky. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>On the other hand Bucky just confirmed he’s been shot.</i>
</p><p>Just another night and day in Steve and Bucky's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not one single further sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is set at some point in the future in canon where all the crises have been solved and nobody's fighting with their friends.
> 
> ETA, May 2016: This became a series, and i thought a bit more about what the apartment is like, and it didn't quite match with what I had here, so I came back an edited. They were minor details, nothing to do with plot, but I know it would have bugged me otherwise, so.

Steve has never had a word for their relationship. There are words that have always been true, ones that once were true but not anymore, and some that are true now but haven’t always been. There are many words that can be considered as truth. And yet, none of them feel quite _right_ to him. To him it’s just them, him and Bucky. Or SteveandBucky as it almost seemed to be at times. It’s not quite like that anymore, and honestly he’s glad about it, because it’s not good to be so dependent on each other as they sometimes were before the war. Over the years he’s resigned to not finding  perfect word for them, accepting that maybe he shouldn’t try either, because after all, all human beings contain multitudes, as do close relationships between them.

Still, he sometimes thinks about words and what they mean. What it means when they say them, and what it means when something is not said. How sometimes things mean more than the sum of the words. _Be careful. Have a good day. Don’t you dare to get hurt. I brought your favorite pastries. You’re an idiot. You feel so good._ Different words, but the same meaning echoing around them.

Sometimes it’s not even words, just actions that communicate the meaning. Sitting right next to each other even if the couch is huge. Keeping company after a nightmare. Having the other’s back in a fight. Countless other things, some so small one might consider them insignificant as such and yet all of them together create a pattern over two lives.

There are words for them by other people, and the group of people that seem to want to define them is larger than Steve is really comfortable with if he stops to think about it. Sometimes he thinks about how his life and also Bucky’s has become common knowledge and at the same time almost a myth; a story in many ways unrecognizable to them. Still, he only cares about what the people he values have to say. Sometimes they understand, to a frightening degree really, and sometimes not quite. What’s important is that their friends accept them, all the facets there are to him and Bucky, all the facets between them.

Steve thinks he now knows Bucky better than he ever did, even compared to when they were young and basically lived in each other’s pockets. After everything, all the changes that they’ve both been through, after pain and hardship, they still fit together. And it’s a wonder, because finally, after living for more than a hundred years, albeit with a long pause in the middle, or several in Bucky's case, things are better than Steve can ever remember them being. No health problems, poverty or war. No loneliness and confusion in the new world. No despair of separation. No schism within the team, not even aliens in the sky. No wistful longing for each other. It’s not perfect, but it’s good, even on days when things really do not go to plan.

Steve has been alone in their apartment for the last few days. Occasionally Bucky leaves for a bit; sometimes for a night, sometimes for several weeks. He doesn’t always tell Steve where he goes, not even afterwards. Definitely never beforehand. Steve knows he sometimes goes and tracks down remnants of HYDRA, sometimes just goes to be alone. Steve gets it, he does. It’s still not easy for Bucky to live with the knowledge of what he did, or accept that he deserves to have good things in his life, to be happy. It may never again be easy, but Bucky deals with it as best he can. Maybe some people would suggest different kinds of coping methods, Sam certainly does every once in a while, but Steve isn’t sure they would work any better. Also if this is the way Bucky chooses to handle things, Steve isn’t going to argue as long as Bucky isn’t hurting himself or reverting back to Winter Soldier, which by now isn’t likely to happen. In his opinion Bucky has had too many people making decisions for him, and Steve isn’t going to be one of them.

It’s the fourth night since Bucky’s been gone when Steve wakes up to a crash from kitchen at two in the morning. He’s not alarmed or worried about intruders; they have a security system that Tony created, which means whoever is inside is either Bucky or someone good enough to bypass the alarm, and in the case of the latter they wouldn’t be making noise in the kitchen. Steve also has refined instincts where he tends to be aware of people nearby even in sleep, but he isn’t at all surprised that Bucky managed to get in without him waking up. Steve knows his subconsciousness categorizes Bucky as safe in a way it does for no one else.

Steve gets out of bed and heads to kitchen without bothering to put on the lights; he can see well enough with the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He pauses at the opening between the wall and the bar, taking in Bucky all decked in his combat gear, sitting on the floor and leaning to the cabinets. There’s a duffel bag undoubtedly full of weapons in the corner, and the coat Bucky must have been wearing to better blend in the crowds shed on the floor next to it. Clearly this has been one of the expeditions to track down HYDRA, and with that knowledge it doesn’t surprise Steve to see Bucky take a swig from a bottle that’s probably some cheap whisky.

Steve takes a step closer, but stops when Bucky says, “Careful, there’s glass on the floor. You’ll cut your feet.” There’s something a little off about Bucky’s voice and speech patterns, tightness that Steve recognizes but can’t quite figure out what it means when he’s still half asleep himself. He clicks the light on and after blinking to adjust his eyes takes the scene in. There is indeed glass on the floor, the pieces of a drinking glass. It breaking was probably what woke Steve. That alone would tell Steve that something is off with Bucky, but there’s also a pallor on his skin, and deep shadows under slightly too wide eyes.

He gets the brush and dustpan and sweeps all the glass away before crouching in front of Bucky. “Everything alright?” ends up being the question that comes out of Steve’s mouth.

“Perfect,” Bucky says in a way that means no, but is sort of sincere nonetheless. He seems to be having difficulty focusing on Steve, which only means one thing.

“When did you last sleep?” Steve asks, already suspecting he knows the answer.

He isn’t at all surprised when Bucky says, “With you.” He’s slurring the words a bit, in a way that if it was 1941 Steve would think he’s drunk. Only he can’t get drunk anymore, not really.

Fourth night without sleep then, combined with whatever Bucky’s been up to that required combat readiness. It means Bucky is pushing at the limits of exhaustion. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s one of the reasons why Steve tends to worry when Bucky leaves for more than a night for all that he tries not to. He contemplates on just getting Bucky up and into bed, except it’s evident that Bucky hasn’t been in a shower either during the four days he was gone. He smells a mix of dirt and petrol and gunpowder, with a hint of blood and disinfectant thrown in. Steve pauses at that, and only then realises Bucky’s holding the bottle in his left hand. He can do most things with both hands, but for some things he prefers the right. For example, glass tends to slip in the metal fingers. Steve also realises Bucky’s right arm has been hanging limp the whole time.

“You’re injured.” It’s not a question, it doesn’t need to be because it is exactly like Bucky to try and not let him know.

“Just a scratch,” Bucky says and waves the bottle at him, sounding loopy but almost smiling. “I dug out the bullet and all, it’s fine.”

For a moment Steve just stares at Bucky feeling like both laughing and crying, because on one hand the smile means this isn’t going to be one of those times when coming down from all this, settling back into normal life is going to be hard for Bucky. There probably won’t be new nightmares or next few days spent in dark mood, and Steve is relieved about it all. It means the bottle is just for relaxing, maybe for pain instead of trying to drown something Bucky’d rather not think about. Not that it has any actual physical effect on Bucky, but even supersoldiers are susceptible to the placebo effect.

On the other hand Bucky just confirmed he’s been shot, quite obviously on his arm, which could be bad, even with the accelerated healing. The knowledge of this is what spurs Steve on and without further ceremony he hauls Bucky up to his feet and pulls him to the bathroom. Bucky obliges him easily enough, only grumbling under his breath, and Steve pretends he doesn’t hear anything about too much fussing. It’s mostly for appearances sake anyway.

Steve sits Bucky down on the edge of the tub at first and then on the floor leaning to it when it’s clear Bucky hasn’t got balance enough to stay there. If Steve let him, Bucky probably would be out like a light but he’s going to look at the arm first. He makes quick work of the buckles and zippers even though Bucky is no help at all, just sits there and looks at Steve slightly unfocused. The bottle is forgotten on the floor, and Bucky runs his fingers along Steve’s thigh. The senses in the prosthetic aren’t quite as accurate as in his other arm but he can tell difference between texture, hot and cold.

The right sleeve of Bucky’s undershirt is cut off and there is a bandage around the arm. Steve grimaces at the sight of significant bleed-through and gently starts undoing the bandage. He knows it must be painful, but maybe the exhaustion helps Bucky there, since he doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps looking at Steve, running fingers over his thigh, up his side under his sleepshirt. It doesn’t help Steve in concentrating on the task at hand.

It is indeed a gunshot wound, and the bullet has been taken out but otherwise it’s mostly untreated. “You could have had someone to take care of this. You need stitches,” Steve remarks.

“You can do that. It’s not going to kill me and I just wanted to come back home,” Bucky says, quiet and serious.

Steve glances at him, and there are a million things he wants to say and no words for any of it. A lot of people would scoff at the idea that he’s bad with words, and he often isn’t, he can usually say the right thing before battle, to make his strategies work, even when his team mates need emotional support. And yet, where he often fails is with Bucky, which is ironic since in many ways talking with Bucky is the easiest thing in the world. It’s just that when it comes to putting his own feelings into words, when he wants to tell Bucky exactly what this all means to him, he can’t. It feels like it all just freezes in his mouth. There are a lot of things that are left unsaid between them, and Steve can only hope that while he’s looking for the right words, his actions speak enough for him.

It’s the same this time; none of the things he really wants to say come out. He just ends up with, “You are the most stubborn idiot that ever existed.”

“Second most stubborn,” Bucky allows, flashes one of his rare grins and settles against the tub, looking more comfortable. He continues, “You make it work for you though. That’s why I always tell you I love you.”

“You never actually told me.”

The words are out before Steve has even fully comprehended what they’re talking about, because that’s how it happens with Bucky. There’s the easy repartee even now, as if a call and response, as automatic as anything about them that goes together. Then he realises and his hands freeze on Bucky’s skin for a second. He’s acutely aware of Bucky’s eyes on him, the metal fingers warm against his side.

It takes a moment to sink in, that now they are out in the open, the actual, undisputable words. It’s undeniable now, not something he has to interpret from other words or based on actions. What he in fact has interpreted, but somehow it feels bigger now that Bucky said it. It feels monumental, like everything should have changed when nothing really has. That’s why it also takes Steve a moment to parse together exactly what Bucky said, and what it means.

Steve figures it out just when Bucky says, “Huh. I was sure I had told you. Are you sure you haven’t forgotten?”

“Pretty sure yes,” Steve manages, and remembers he still has to treat Bucky’s wound.

He gets the first aid kit from under the sink, takes out the sutures, needle driver, disinfectant and topical anesthetic. He glad he has a task to concentrate on, one that means he doesn’t have to look at Bucky’s face. He sets to cleaning the wound, not that he worries about infection; it’s nearly impossible considering the healing factor, but it never hurts to make sure. Suturing is still easy for him; he had training already during the war, as the whole team did even if Jim had been the designated medic, and then he’d brushed up his skills with SHIELD. This isn’t the first time he’s stitching Bucky up either, it’s happened both during the war and after Bucky came back.

Thing is, he actually understands why Bucky is so sure of having already told him in so many words that he loves Steve. Words have always been easier for Bucky, maybe because he puts less weight to them. Probably that’s why in his head he has told Steve because he has already said many things that mean the same. Or maybe he actually told Steve when Steve was unconscious for some reason or another, it is certainly a possibility. Steve doesn’t really think it counts, though.

It only takes a few minutes to close the wound. Bucky is quiet all through it up until Steve is taping a patch of gauze over the wound, and then he insists, “I must have told you.”

Steve chooses to ignore it, since he’s not sure the discussion will go anywhere that night with Bucky more than half asleep. He runs a bath and helps Bucky shed rest of his clothes and get in the water, then tidies the first aid kit away. Miraculously it’s not awkward, even if Steve still has no idea what he’s supposed to say here.

Bucky is nodding off by the time Steve has helped him clean, making sure the bandage stays dry. He leans his forehead on Steve’s shoulder and lets Steve dry him off and is completely on autopilot while Steve finds him a pair of pajama pants and a longsleeved t-shirt to sleep in.

Predictably Bucky passes out as soon as he’s horizontal, but Steve can’t fall back into sleep. He lies in their bed staring at the shadowed ceiling, drawing absentminded patterns on Bucky’s back. It’s usually calming, the nights when Bucky’s not restless and instead can just settle half on top of Steve, head on his shoulder, breath warm on Steve’s neck. Those times Steve always feels more grounded than he could for years after he’d been brought back from the ice, and he does so this night as well. He just can’t sleep, even if he’s more tired than usual. He never sleeps well when Bucky’s away.

It’s a thought that sometimes creeps up on him; how overwhelming it can be if one starts thinking about all the things one can know about another person. It really is an infinity of things, large and small, in a way all of them significant, because together they make up a person. After waking up Steve has spent more time thinking on how one can know things about another person, and how some of them are only things that they think they know, but that aren’t true. That the picture one has of the other person, or even self can never be exactly accurate.

Most of Steve’s life he would have named Bucky as the person he knew the best. It had felt wrong, the time after he’d learned Bucky was alive, when this hadn’t been the truth, even if he had understood it. He’d never expected Bucky to be the same and he isn’t, but now they’ve gotten back to where they again know each other inside out. It has taken many long months, years even, but now Steve is confident he knows Bucky better than he ever did. Sometimes he thinks it is ironic and maybe even sad that it has taken all they’ve been through for them to shed the last barriers that stood between them. Back during the war and even before it Steve hadn’t even fully known they were there, but in retrospect he can tell the things Bucky had been hiding from him, and the things he himself had been hiding from Bucky.

And somehow, while he sometimes does find the amount of things he knows about Bucky overwhelming, it’s comforting as well. He knows many things that Bucky has been but isn’t any more. There are others that have been part of Bucky every day of his life, and he knows things Bucky is now but wasn’t always, and it doesn’t matter which detail, they are all equally dear to Steve.

Steve knows what it means when Bucky falls asleep on top of him or beside him. He knows the look in Bucky’s eyes that means he’s staring back into past, and he knows whether to distract him or leave him in peace. Steve knows the things that make Bucky laugh, and the kind of slow and peaceful mornings that he treasures. He knows how Bucky’s eyes darken when he’s angry, and how it’s different from when he’s aroused. He knows every part of Bucky’s body, the sound he makes when Steve drags his teeth over just the precise spot on his hip. He knows how Bucky’s hands tighten is his hair when he takes Bucky’s cock in his mouth, flicks his tongue over the tip.

And Steve knows that Bucky knows all of these kinds of things about him too, didn’t always but does now. And perhaps that is the key; Bucky knows him, and loves him. It’s something Steve knew before, but the words make it so much more true. Bucky is in love with him, and hearing it has been the most unexpected thing in the world. Even if it shouldn’t have.

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up with sun in his eyes, his hand resting on Bucky’s side. It must be near noon, but it still surprises him to find Bucky awake. It wouldn’t have been the first time if Bucky had slept straight through the day after several nights of pushing himself and staying awake. Their heads are both resting on Steve’s pillow, noses nearly touching. Bucky has tucked one hand under Steve’s waist, the other arm hangs loosely around him, and Steve never wants to move.

Steve’s eyes close and he’s almost falling back to sleep when Bucky asks, voice slightly hoarse from sleep, “Had I really not told you?”

Steve opens his eyes and finds Bucy looking at him, intent and steady, and, as he’s glad to find out, not even a bit unsure. “No,” he says, and continues, “but it’s been heavily implied.” He moves a bit closer, brings their foreheads together.

Bucky’s arm tightens around him. “Well, I do. Love you, I mean.”

There’s a pause before Steve finds the right words to answer, maybe it’s even a long pause, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. After all, he knows Steve inside out. Knows that words are difficult to Steve when they are personal and intimate and yet carry the whole world. Perhaps that’s why Bucky hadn’t made such a big deal of saying them either. But now they are out, and as much as Steve considers himself a leader, in some things he knows he never really has been, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to follow. And after all it is the truth, maybe the one truth that matters the most. “I love you too,” he says, and afterwards wonders how such simple words felt so heavy beforehand.

Then Bucky rolls on top of him and kisses him, slow and thorough and Steve stops thinking about anything but the moment. Steve pulls Bucky closer and tangles one hand in Bucky’s hair, slides the other down his back. It’s languid, almost lazy, and neither one of them is in a hurry to escalate things. It’s mostly about closeness and not sex, not right then. Steve draws circles across the planes of Bucky’s back, careful of the places where he’d noted bruising the night before, but Bucky doesn’t seem to be in any pain.

After a while they slow down and pull apart a little. It’s only then Steve notices it’s almost uncomfortably hot under covers, and Bucky seems to have thought the same thing, since they don’t even talk about it, just scramble into bathroom together. They take their time washing each other, and Steve shampoos Bucky’s hair more thoroughly than he did before they went to sleep. It devolves mostly into a scalp massage with Bucky resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder and making pleased noises every once in a while. It’s also full of intent, because Steve knows exactly how Bucky will react, especially when he steps a lot closer than necessary, their bodies brushing against each other with every move.

Bucky’s hands roam all over Steve’s skin, purposeful now instead of mindless. He lightly rakes his nails over Steve’s ribs, presses his thumb at a muscle near his groin just so. Steve tilts Bucky’s head back to rinse the shampoo off and bites him at the corner of his jaw and is rewarded with a low groan and Bucky’s fingers digging into his back.

Steve pushes Bucky against the tiles, drops to his knees, grabs hold of Bucky’s cock and works it to full hardness with a few strokes. Then he takes it onto his mouth, swallows deep and flick his tongue over the tip as he comes up again. Bucky’s hand fists in his hair, just as Steve knew would happen and he can’t help smiling. After the slow buildup since they woke up Bucky is fairly close, and it only takes a few minutes before he comes, head against the tile, breath leaving him in a rush. Steve eases him through it until Bucky starts softening in his mouth, and then Bucky hauls him up, crowds him against the wall and wraps his fingers around Steve’s now almost painfully hard cock.

It doesn’t take Steve long either before he comes, his moan muffled against Bucky’s neck, and then they just stay in each other’s embrace, let the water wash come off their skin. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair and remembers his musings about what they are to each other, and decides it’s not really about words at all. What they are is right there, inside them and between them. He doesn’t need anything more.

Later Steve makes pancakes and fries bacon, all the while mock-glaring at Bucky who’s cleaning his guns at the bar. They eat from the same plate, as they both like more syrup on pancakes than any sensible person, and they have no obligations to be anywhere but home. It’s going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written primarily to cheer me up since I'm fairly terrified at what's going to happen in CACW (just realised I'm posting this exactly a month before I get to see it, seems appropriate). I'm excited, but terrified. I think the funniest thing is probably that something to cheer me up includes _a gunshot wound_ , but that's the lives they lead I guess.
> 
> The title is from _If Not, Winter_ , Anne Carson's translations of Sappho, second verse of fragment 5. Sometimes I think that the particular verse could be a prayer of Steve's:
> 
> _And all the wrong he did before, loose it.  
>  Make him a joy to his friends,  
> a pain to his enemies and let there exist for us  
> not one single further sorrow._


End file.
